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I think I’m like many women in that I’d love to have a steamy, torrid love affair with a spicy hot firefighter. Or at least a dirty romp. It would be stupid hot, right?

Technically, I had one once. But it didn’t really count. He was a friend (with benefits) from college. Years after we graduated he came to visit and we ended up naked in my room. He was a paramedic at the time, and training to be a firefighter. It was hot, yes, but we got together because we’d already been together.

You can imagine my delight when Tinder presented the 34 year old, 6’6″ fireman. Swipe right!! Even better, we matched!!

We started messaging and it was anything but hot. It’s like a fucking job. Dude gave me nothing to work with. Usually there’s some kind of back and forth when you message someone. Trying to get him to engage is like pulling teeth. After a few days, I stopped responding for fear he’d bore me straight into a coma.

Guess who decided to message me again yesterday and today?

Ok, I’ll bite. Know what? He’s still boring.

Why can’t he be hot and interesting so I can play out my fireman fantasies while Monsieur le Baguette works on his rebounds?

This is for all my single friends out there. I’m going to give you a gift my friend gave to me in December, a kick in the ass.

This is for those of you wondering where your prince/princess charming may be. Thinking maybe the reason they haven’t turned up has something to do with you. Saying to yourself, “maybe it’s me.” Wondering if you’re too boring, unaccomplished, chubby, plain, old. Perhaps you think you’re not pretty enough, smart enough, strong enough, fun enough, experienced enough, interesting enough.

Maybe it’s something else. Maybe all of those things you tell yourself are just that – things you tell yourself. Bullshit stories you’ve made up that you believe, that you put stock in. They are bad fairy tales without a happy ending. Fairy tales aren’t true stories. You see things in yourself, not nice things, others don’t see and you believe those things. Those things don’t exist. Those things are lies. They are meaningless stories you’ve taught yourself to believe.

It’s time to let those things go.

You are more than enough. You are a gem. You are a force to be reckoned with. You are special.

It’s time to get back out there. Time to go out and meet people, make new friends, have new experiences, open yourself up. Get the fuck out there. Build your profile and put it up online. Choose whatever dating site you want. Choose two. Just do it. Don’t go into it thinking to yourself, “I’m doing this so I can find my soulmate.” Shift your thinking to, “I’m doing this to meet new people, learn new things, come up with great stories I can share with my friends, have some fun, try new restaurants and bars.”

Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of. What’s the worst thing that can happen? You take your profile down after a year and haven’t met anyone? Well guess what? You will have met people. And you will have had new experiences. And you will have grown. And those things, my friend, are so totally worth it.

Dust yourself off, pick yourself up, and go and see who is out there. Make out with someone at a bar. Say yes to things you wouldn’t typically say yes to. All those things that scare you? Say yes. The things that make you feel uncomfortable or you think you can’t do? Say yes. When the little voice in your head pops up and sings, “You can’t do it. You’re not good at it. They’re not going to like you,” tune it out and you fire back with, “I’m doing it.”

Get out of your own way and get the fuck back out there.

You can do it. When you feel shitty and aren’t sure what to do, or you get some random message you don’t know how to respond to, or you don’t know what to wear, or you’re confused then you’re going to email me and we’ll figure it out together. I’m going to pep talk the shit out of you and you’re going to do it.

Well guess who has been awfully chatty over the last few days? Looks like the Chess Player still has some moves he’s looking to make.

Saturday morning, barely hours since I had left his apartment, he was texting me. Asking about the weekend, telling me he’d had fun, wanting to know more about me. Foundation, I assumed, for a future hook up. He asked a few questions about why I had decided to go home with him. He joked about having me back in his exceptionally soft sheets. Of course he was telling me how hot, interesting, smart, charming, and talented I was, and how much fun he had had.

Wouldn’t you know it? He’s pretty funny.

He’s also, a bit of shock when you factor in the 11 year age difference, genuinely interested. Or perhaps it’s that he’s intrigued? He asks about my day. I had a big launch of a project I had mentioned to him and he asked how it went. Do booty calls do that? Because he also called me “amazing”. And not in a sexual kind of way (he used “talented” for that). He also wants to know what kinds of shows I like to watch. Where I want to go on vacation. What I like about my job. The books I like to read. Today he told me he’s a champion snuggler – I can vouch for those skills.

Texts first thing in the morning and last thing at night (for him). We were in the midst of texting last night when Monsieur le Baguette called me. I stopped texting the Chess Player, because well it was Monsieur le Baguette, I mean come on! He assumed that I had just fallen asleep (it was kind of late) and he sent me a little kissy winky face goodnight text.

Dear sister, go away now. Don’t read this post. You should probably be doing something with Damien since he’s on spring break. Bet he’d love to go see Black Panter again. Oh, or I know! Maybe you can plan a nice date night for when my bro-in-law gets back in town. Mom and I can watch the kids on Saturday night. You should work that shit out. Also, go away.

I have so many questions for you today. Is it called ghosting when someone you’re “dating” disappears because you’re left haunted by all of their nonsense? Is that why? It’s the ghost of all of the conversations and trying to figure out all of the clues?

Here’s another question for you: why hasn’t #4 texted me?? The last exchange we had was on Wednesday night. Crickets on Thursday and Friday. That’s a pretty loud and clear message from him. Got it. Fine (not really). Look, we all knew he was a douche, and this is typical behavior for a douche bag.

I guess I thought since we had established some time of rapport he’d give me the fucking courtesy of telling me if he didn’t want to pursue anything. He was really direct before. So what gives? Had it been 1 date and he pulled out, totally get it. We were a month into whatever – texts every damn day. Then POOF! he disappeared. Lesson learned: don’t do that to someone. I’m glad that I had the decency to tell The Tutor that I was out.

But #4 and I weren’t going to date. We drew some lines in the sand – “no dating” we said. “Friends with benefits,” we agreed. I was very careful to listen to the words he said, I repeated them back to him. I understood what he was looking (or not looking) for. Thought we were on the same page. Tuesday night was fun. He said as much that night and the next night. Which is what he said he was looking for, fun.

So what the fuck happened? Me not understand.

I don’t understand men. They’re stupid. And so are women. We spend an inordinate amount of time over analyzing all kinds of stupid nonsense. Frankly, there are better ways we could spend our time, like watching Netflix, hanging out with our friends and having pillow fights, braiding our hair, doing our nails, overthrowing the patriarchy, fighting to close the wage gap, really anything is better than wasting a second thinking about someone who doesn’t deserve it.

Guess what? I’m a god damned chick and I don’t know how to turn my brain off. I know #4 is way too much in his head. He’s lost in his own emotional baggage which is why he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. The second the lights go off in my room and it’s time to go to bed my brain goes into overdrive and it’s time to analyze every little thing that happened leading up to, during, and after Tuesday night’s shenanigans. The muscles in my body are still sore (validating I’m totally out of shape). If by some miracle I’ve shut off my brain, as soon as I move in bed and I feel the soreness, it makes me think thoughts all over again. It’s so annoying!

There’s a tiny (or not so tiny) part of me that thinks, “you weren’t enough.” I’m shutting that shit down pretty quickly. Or trying to. For the most part I’m doing pretty well with attempting to distract myself with other dates. The hard part is that since I have so many questions it’s hard to let go of wanting the answers.

I just want to understand.

And I want him to message me so that we can bone.

My boss told me I should text him “how was your trip?” Then when he responds asking, “what trip?” I should say, “the one in your head.” I’ve thought about texting him to get out of his own head, remind him it was just a hook up and he knows how to find me. I’ve thought of a dozen scenarios and clever text messages I could send to hook him back in. Not going to happen. I will not text him. I’ve deleted all of his text messages* and his number from my phone. We’re unmatched from Tinder. If he contacts me I’m going to tell him to go fuck himself.**

*Except maybe the texts that popped up on my computer because some of the racy ones were pretty good.

**Or hook up with him again.

Dear friends and family who I am close with. Look away. This post is not for you. This is a post about sexy things that you don’t need to read about. Go away. You do not want to read any further than this. Trust me. Too personal. You’ll never look at me the same way.

That’s right, bitches! Guess who just lined up date #4 for tonight? I did! She who hasn’t seen a naked man (other than in her dreams) in more than eleventy twelve years! Of course it will probably be either an absolute train wreck, incredibly boring, or somewhat mediocre, but I’m going.

Frankly, it’s an excellent excuse to skip the gym. Sorry, Treadmill, I can’t see you tonight because I have a date. With a man. A living, breathing, actual man. One who is gainfully employed and owns his own home.

Wait. Fuck. This might be a bad idea. He said he was a “gym ninja” who “loved working out.” I am a couch ninja who enjoys eating all the carbs and not working out. What if my fat rolls scare him off?? What if he doesn’t like muffin tops?? And we’re meeting at a pizza place! What if I end up eating more pizza than he does? Cuz let’s face it – I love carbs and never work out. I just realized he’s younger than I am by 7 years! I’m like his fucking out of shape grandmother!